Dance of Sparks
by MissMary
Summary: Very AU! The Decepticons won. Now as some of the cities are rebuilt, the next generation shapes a changing culture. A beautiful dancer is caught up in forces beyond his control and finds that he will play a role far more challenging than he ever dreamed-or feared.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Transformers. Hasbro got there first. Sigh.

Trigger warning: some violence, mention of non-consensual sex.

I have read many stories, some well done and some not, where Autobots are enslaved by the conquering Decepticons. Many are very dark. I always wondered what would happen to the next generation. That's where this story came from. I usually don't like introducing too many OC's but this story is full of them, along with many, many of the mainline Cybertronian cast. It is a mixture of many storylines, and very AU. Multi-chapter.

For the purposes of the story all Cybertronians can sire and carry children.

Reviews are always welcome.

Dance of Sparks

_The Great War ended with the Decepticons victorious_.

_But there were so few Cybertronians left that instead of embarking on a killing spree, Megatron declared all Autobot war prisoners slaves. In order to keep the Autobots under control, Megatron claimed the Prime as his consort, allowed his highest officers to choose their prizes based on rank, and parceled out the rest of the war prisoners where he thought they might do the most good. War slaves could not be sold. They were assigned to a master for life, with changes made only by Megatron under very unusual circumstances. Then the rebuilding began. When a few cities rose from the rubble and enough energon flowed, the state started encouraging population growth. _

"He's so beautiful," Wayfinder said to his younger brother, cradling Illusion's sparkling in his arms as the tiny Seeker recharged. The sparkling's grey protoform already started showing signs of vague blue coloring. The three Decepticons watched in benevolent approval as the slave brothers cooed over the new sparkling.

_When several Autobot slaves died by suicide, the state began enforcing laws regarding their treatment. Masters abusing slaves and/or their offspring, Decepticon or slave, lost them to other Decepticons; there were plenty who wanted their own slave or the chance to raise a sparkling. If a slave bore his master offspring, the slave gained status as that Decepticon's consort and could not be sold, traded, or abandoned except by decree of the state for abuse. A master could have only one consort._

_Childbearing and rearing became a slave's primary purpose. Slave starting working in other capacities for their masters, but carrying a sparkling successfully cost in time and credits, and therefore the mark of a successful Decepticon included a slave to carry and raise his sparklings in addition to working in his business_.

A slightly older sparkling toddled from the kitchen door to slam into Wayfinder's leg. "Come play!" she demanded, glaring jealously at the sparkling. "Play with me!" The blue and orange doorwinged femme yanked at her slave uncle's leg . Her bright colors contrasted against his deep blue and black colors. Like Wayfinder, Harmony had no doorwings. His creator, Harmony, watched from the kitchen.

"We'll get your puzzles and play in the kitchen, Bluff," Wayfinder offered, as he gave Skybolt back to his creator. She squealed in triumph and headed to another room, followed by her slave uncle.

"Wayfinder!" The slave looked over at his Decepticon brother, whose colors matched his offspring's. "Don't you want one of those for your own?" he asked, indicating Bluff.

"When the time comes, Master Sharpster," Wayfinder said cheerfully. "I've already raised one sparkling, so I can wait until Mistress Liquidator finds the right master for me." Liquidator laughed as Bluff squealed impatiently. Wayfarer picked up a box from the closet and walked to the kitchen with the two amused creators following.

_When the breeding started, masters preferred that their slaves bear Decepticon young, but some Decepticons did breed their slaves to other slaves. Most bred their slaves in order to get a worker they could train to their satisfaction. Sometimes they wanted a companion or servant for their offspring, one that they could trust. Very few slaves came on the market. Exchanges of slaves became the norm, a means for gaining consorts for offspring or to cement a business partnership, especially if the slave possessed valuable skills. _

"You have to admit he has a point," she said. The violet optics on the femme matched the violet markings in her otherwise black frame. She held her doorwings high and strong, like her Decepticon sibling. At Windsong's confused look, she explained, "Once 'Finder came home from the school, he took care of me while Creator worked with Sire. " With Smokescreen working a lot harder than Swindle, she thought.

"He made life easier on all of us," Sharpster agreed. "Raised you, kept the house so our poor creator Smokescreen could rest after he came back from work, and managed to keep our sire Swindle supplied with those high-grade mixes he loves so much and off our backs. All his life he's worked harder than any other slave I know. He should be settled with a master, raising his own sparklings and secure. Not dancing and tending bar. Making him wait until you find a partner to expand to a new location is selfish."

"Ha," she snorted. "His value goes up with every offer I have for him. One's going to be perfect for both my business partner and his master. Every Decepticon you've pushed as a master is a friend and possible partner of yours. Not one of them would stand for him working for me, but they wouldn't mind him doing your datawork, would they? "

"He can carry and work for me at the same time," Sharpster argued. "He can't carry and dance." He waved at the door where they could hear Bluff chattering and the slaves' soft murmurs. "You see how good he is with the little ones, he loves them and he should have his own."

"It is the only real security a slave has, being a consort," Windsong observed.

_The decree stated first, that all slaves would bear two slave sparklings after bearing one Decepticon sparkling to their masters. Second, that all such sparklings would be educated at certain centers, in order be sure that they possessed basic childrearing and household skills and understood their place in Decepticon society. If a Decepticon did not want to keep the two sparklings, he could hand them over to the centers, and the state would assume the cost and ownership of said slave sparklings. The decree included, in the small print, that any sparkling reported as mistreated counted as abandoned, and that the state would appoint inspectors to ensure that this protection stayed enforced. The wording meant that if the Decepticon master did not have two sparklings already, the two slave sparklings came before he could sire a second sparkling. _

"I can protect my slave," Liquidator hissed, as she flared her armor, and watched in satisfaction as the two mechs backed down."Wayfinder loves dancing and you know it. He loves talking to the customers at the bar. Besides, the database search engine does most of the work and he does your final interviews on the slow hours. You've got no reason to complain. " She glanced over at the kitchen, too. "I don't see why you mechs want to produce offspring so young anyway. We've got all our lives ahead of us! What's the hurry? "

Windsong sighed and wondered if Swindle's two offspring ever stopped arguing over their older slave sibling. The lovely grounder worked hard for both of them, but Liquidator owned him, and Sharpster never stopped trying to change that. In the Seeker's opinion, Sharpster wasted his time and his breath. Wayfinder wanted to stay with Liquidator, and until he changed his processor, he would. They ran their businesses, competently and well. Wayfinder ran their lives, and did it so well that none of them realized it including the slave. Windsong would bet credits that if confronted, Wayfinder would look baffled and say he only did his work and made occasional suggestions when his Decepticon siblings deigned to listen.

Windsong wanted the pretty black and deep blue mech once, despite the lack of appendages like wings or doorwings that were so important to a Seeker. In that, he resembled many other unattached Decepticons who watched Wayfinder dance or poured out their woes to his sympathetic ear at the bar of the club.

He remembered the night he asked if Wayfinder was available. "You must speak with my mistress about that," Wayfinder said, as he mixed the drink Windsong ordered. Then he gave that lovely smile and added, "I'm so very flattered that you'd even mention the idea, seeing that I don't even have doorwings, like my brother." Then he mentioned the database that helped match potential consorts with masters.

From there, Wayfinder facilitated the exchange between his lovely but insecure slave sibling Harmony with Sharpster for Illusion. A grounder with no doorwings in a family of fliers, Harmony was happier than Wingsong or his fond if overbearing siblings ever hoped with Sharpster, and Illusion cared as deeply for his master as Windsong did for his consort.

When he considered all the detail involved and that Wayfinders steered his siblings throughout, the Seeker thanked Primus that Wayfinder used his talent for organization and manipulation in benevolent ways. He also thanked Primus that Liquidator got Wayfinder away from their sire before Swindle discovered the slave's talents. Just the idea of the skilled manipulator in the greedy Decepticon's hands made him want to purge.

He turned his attention back to the arguement when Liquidator added, "If you think Wayfinder should have offspring, he can sire Harmony's next sparkling."

"That's a given," Sharpster said. "Not only will he give his own value to my slave's offspring, but I'd be able to protect my brother's children with my own." His violet optics met his Decepticon sibling's similar ones, and for once the two nodded in agreement.

"How long will you wait?" Windsong asked, seizing the chance to change the subject. Light from the colorful glass art in the wall shone off his blue and red plating. From the kitchen Skybolt woke and squawked briefly. The Seeker moved to look over, and his face softened. The others craned neckplates to see Illusion refueling the sparkling. Then they stepped away again from the door again. "I've heard a lot of arguments about spacing the sparklings. Some say you should get the slave offspring out of the way and into the school as soon as possible, but I think that would be hard on my little creator."

"That's a great way to get a worn-out, hostile consort," Liquidator snorted. She picked up her cube of flavored energon from a decorative shelf and finished it. She stood as tall as her brother, though no one would mistake her as anything but a femme. "Wait until Skybolt is in his first classes. That'll give Illusion some time with his other sparklings without depriving your little mech."

_Those who did not have a slave hailed the decree as far-seeing and wise. Those that had slaves complained. But the Lord Conqueror stood firm; all slaves except the Consort would bear two slave sparklings, and all slave sparklings would attend school to ensure an even education and that they learned their place. The second decree came after the first wave of slave sparklings matured enough to leave school. This one stated that masters must sell or exchange the second generation slave from his household, to a master capable of breeding them. He could not breed the slave himself, or breed him to his Decepticon offspring, or use them as prostitutes or courtesans. That particular decree brought uproar, mostly from the second generation Decepticons who did not want to give up their sibling servants. But once again Lord Conqueror stood firm. At this time, energon supplies stood at a surplus with no sign of future problems. The population remained critically low. Unless the Decepticon mechs wanted to carry their own young, they must expand the number of slaves._

_None of the Decepticons asked the opinion of the slaves, of course. _

"True," Sharpster agreed. "With some spacing, the slave offspring are more likely to survive. I've heard that the slave sparklings die more easily than ours." He looked toward the door, where the soft indistinct voices of their slaves and the shriller one of Bluff drifted from the kitchen. "I hope that doesn't happen to Harmony," he added softly. "I think losing any sparkling would devastate him."

Liquidator sent the master of her younger slave sibling and her Decepticon sibling a sly look. "There's plenty of ways to enjoy yourselves without starting another spark, if you're worried about depriving yourself. Let me know if you want more information." Rumor said she knew all of them; while she wasn't ready to settle down yet, she saw nothing wrong with having her fun with other Decepticons.

Sharpster laughed. "Thanks for the offer, but Harmony's got quite an imagination and plenty of enthusiasm when he's gotten enough recharge. I'm in no hurry. "He sipped at the last of his energon mix.

"Got to say the same for Illusion," Windsong admitted. "It helps that they came up with a sparkling-sitting schedule so we have some time to ourselves." He finished his own energon mix and got a thoughtful look in his ruby optics. Come to think of it, Wayfinder's managing ways might come in handy for his family's current problem. "Speaking of siring. My own sire has a-"he sought words and came up with, "situation. "

In the kitchen, Illusion leaned against the wall and refueled Skybolt, his doorwings perked high with his contentment. For a moment he thought his master would interrupt the slaves' rare chance to meet and talk privately, but the masters withdrew instead. Probably talking about us, he thought.

The femme sparkling worked over her simple puzzles while the other two slaves put together more of the energon mix, enough for the larger mechs to have their second serving while the slaves had a cube apiece. When Bluff got restless, Wayfinder leaned over and said, "Look for one shaped like this," and pointed. Finding that piece usually lead to more and kept Bluff happily matching pieces. "I can't thank you enough for setting up our matches," Harmony said. "Sharpster makes me feel safe, and he doesn't make me feel small, like my flier siblings always did." He sipped at his cube. "He said he wanted you to sire the next one."

"Not so soon?" Illusion asked, alarm in his voice. "Bluff needs a lot of care." Skybolt finished refueling and started looking around, curious. Illusion pulled a toy that lit up when handled and gave it to him. The lights caught his attention and he played happily.

"No, he said he'd wait until this one's in school." The blue and white grounder smiled mischievously. "As long as I keep him satisfied," they all snickered, "he's willing to wait.

"I'm glad to hear that," Wayfinder said, watching his younger sibling play with the sparkling in his arms. "Not that it will be any chore to breed with you," he gave Harmony a smile, "but this one needs to be old enough to share your time with a new sparkling. " He glanced to the door, where they could hear the masters talking clearly, and lowered his voice. "If Sharpster talks about starting a sparkling before you're ready, mention that you don't want Bluff to be jealous of the new sparkling. It'll help. "

The kitchen went quiet for a moment. From the other room, the slave could hear the argument between the siblings "The neverending quarrel," Illusion said, amusement flashing over his faceplates. "Sharpster wants to match you off, and Liquidator's determined to keep hold of you. "

Harmony hissed in annoyance. "Both of them looking more at their advantage than your good," he said in disapproval. "My brothers might have driven me nearly insane, but they wanted me to be happy." Bluff fussed over finding a puzzle piece and her creator bent over the table to help her as the siblings exchanged knowing looks.

Illusion understood much better than Harmony how the exchanges worked. Wayfinder made certain that the exchanges made good business sense for both parties. They let the matter drop, preferring to leave their brother's consort to his blissful ignorance. "They're Decepticons," Wayfinder pointed out. "Of course they're trying to twist it to their own advantage. But Liquidator risked a lot, making that bet with Swindle to keep me with her. I'll never forget that."

"Even I heard about that," Harmony said. "My former master loved the story about how Swindle's younglings managed to trick him out of their slave brothers, saying Swindle didn't know whether to be angry or proud of them. "

Illusion hugged Skybolt tighter. "Sharpster did the same for me," he agreed softly, "but it was you working your pedes into the ground that saved all of us. Otherwise Liquidator and Sharpster both would have got caught up in that scheme of his and doing hard labor on remote reconstruction."

And we'd be dead like our creator, Wayfinder thought, but the look between he and Illusion told him that his brother agreed. "Well, that's in the past," he said lightly. "As it is, both of them have their thriving businesses, you're happily settled, and I'm able to keep dancing for a time yet." His optics lit up as he mentioned the dancing.

Skybolt dropped his toy. Wayfinder caught it and tossed it a few times, so the lights danced over the toy. The sparkling chirred and grabbed for it again. "I know you love to dance," Harmony said, "and Primus knows there's no one better than you, but don't you want little ones? You're so good with them."

"I'm in no hurry," the dancer said. "Liquidator takes good care of me. At least when I sire yours, I'll be able to see them until they go to school. "His own chronometer sounded a soft alarm, and he went to the door to catch his mistress's optic. "Time to go. " He came over and hugged Bluff, stroked the helm of the sparkling, and walked out behind his mistress, the perfect respectful slave.

Sharpster and Windsong stood in the door. "We're going to my sire's," Windsong said. "Stay here until I come back. You have everything you need for the sparklings?" Illusion nodded. Windsong reached over and stroked his sparkling's cheek. Sharpster came over and hugged his sparkling and consort.

Illusion waited until the masters cleared the door before he said softly, "Swindle planned to force Wayfinder and me into bearing sparklings for anyone willing to pay. That's what our siblings got us out of. "

Harmony drew air into her intakes sharply. "But-that's not just cruel, it's illegal!"

"That never bothered Swindle where there was money to be made, " Illusion said grimly. "Sharpster said later the official he bribed is working right beside him. Wayfinder told me that it wasn't just being pimped out. It was that he'd never know what happened to his children. He had nightmares for over a vorn afterward. Especially after Creator died. "

That evening at Liquidator's club, two Seekers and a doorwinged mech came into a room where music thumped loud and hard. A crowd of mechs and a few femmes stood around a dance floor, clapping or stomping in time to the music, watching the single dancer on the brightly lit floor. Doors leading to the bar or to the games room showed occasional figures that paused and strolled away.

The dancer's white armor sparkled with amethyst insets. The song and the dance were familiar, but a light show made the simple number more interesting. The newcomers went to a door. The mech with doorwings pressed his servo to the pad to open and lead the Seekers to a balcony that overlooked the dance floor. The music sounded muted here. "Is there a reason for the volume?" the older Seeker asked, his tone disapproving. He rubbed his audials. The dim light showed gray and white armor. The dance ended, and the crowd murmured appreciation.

Sharpster shrugged. "I think it's annoying as well, Lightspeed, but most of the customers are young and they like it." The music ended, and the lights on the dance floor began to strobe. "Here he comes. "

They looked over the balcony. Between flashes they saw an empty dance floor and customers crowding around it. Then the strobes stopped, and the lights went back on, revealing a dark mech standing still in the middle of the dance floor.

This time, the music flowed. Wayfinder flowed with it. His black and deep blue armor glowed with a polish that glittered as he moved. Every motion hit the beat perfectly as hemoved across the floor. Every optic followed him, mesmerized by the way he seemed to take the music into him and let it out in joyous movement, enhancing his beauty even more than the polish.

Above him, the mechs on the balcony watched as well. When the dance ended, with the dancer falling into the final pose as the music came to its conclusion, the crowd thundered its approval. Wayfinder bowed and waved before the lights blinked again, leaving the floor empty. Windsong turned to his sire and said, "What do you think?"

"He'll do," Lightspeed said. "Make the arrangements."


	2. Chapter 2

Dance of Sparks, Chapter Two

I do not own Transformers. Too bad.

Wayfarer stood in front of his mistress, the Decepticon sister he raised from her birth, and stared at her, his shock overcoming his training. He tried to get his processor to work, but instead his thoughts raced in circles. Not a joor earlier, he stood in front of his audience, basking in the thunderous applause. Walking to the washracks to clean off his dance polish, he reflected that right at this moment, he felt as happy with his life as a slave could be.

Then Liquidator called him over and told him why she cleared their morning schedules, and his life just dropped into the Pit. Primus, he thought, what did I do to deserve this? Was this some kind of punishment for resisting the past most slaves walked for a long as he could?

He heard her say something, but he couldn't hear what she said over the roar of his fans as he began to overheat. He fell to his knees, his arms crossing his chest and his head bowing as a keen escaped him. "Mistress, what have I done? How did I offend you? Please-"and from there his voice went to static. His spark throbbed.

Why was she pimping him out?

The day started normally.

Wayfinder came awake to an internal nagging and groaned softly. He sat up on his berth and the nagging stopped. For a time he sat still, letting the schedule for the day upload.

He had a full day- stocking the bar, two dance classes, and tending the bar before his performance tonight. If he wanted to practice, he better get moving. He headed for the dance floor.

He finished the routine and walked through the club to ensure that the cleaning drones didn't miss anything, but today there was only one missed corner that he needed to finish. He headed for the bar in a good mood. The new routine felt right.

As he stocked the bar, he saw the delivery service sent a new mech with Beige. As he walked over to see if the delivery included rust sticks and empty cubes, the new mech said, "I saw you dancing in there. You're really good."

Wayfinder looked up briefly from his hunt. "I'm glad you like it," he said with a warm smile. He found the rust sticks and looked for the cubes. "Did you bring some empty cubes today?" Red optics checked him out with approval, the dancer noted without much interest. Most mechs looked slaves over and he was used to it.

"Over here," Beige said, who sent Wayfinder an amused look, and handed him the box. Wayfinder thanked him and headed back to the bar. "Grey, we have two more deliveries this morning, so get your optics off that pretty aft and back to the job, hey?" A yellow and grey femme came in as they started out. "Good orn, Tapper. " Wayfinder looked over, waved, and commed her with what he took for the bar and that he pinged the inventory for it. Then he listened to their chatter. "Your shift start already?"

"Came in early after a call from the boss femme," Tapper said. "I can sure use the credits; I'm saving for a sparkling."

"Yeah? " Beige asked, showing interest. "Got a mech picked out? If you don't, contact me after work. Maybe we can set up a contract."

"You know, I hadn't thought that far. I might just take you up on that." She pinged the central club system that logged her work time and started sorting out the boxes for storage. "Got the invoice?" He handed her a datapad. "Thanks, 'Finder, I see the rust sticks and the cubes, let me know if you need anything else and I'll bring it!"

"Wonder how much he'd go for," Grey wondered aloud, jerking his head at the bar as he reluctantly turned back to unloading.

Beige and Tapper laughed. "More than either of us can afford, I'll tell you that," Beige said as he put his load down.

"More than either of us earn in a decavorn," Tapper agreed, starting to sort the delivery and check against the invoice. "And worth every credit. That's one of the hardest-working mechs I ever met, slave or free." She looked at the invoice when Wayfinder commed her that he needed some mesh towels.

"Bet he can't wait for some high-level Decepticon to buy him and set him up as a consort," Grey said. "That's the last of it." As they left, Beige reminded Tapper to consider his offer.

Wayfinder vented as he filled the flavor additives. "What's all the blown air about?" Tapper asked, bringing the box of towels. "Don't think that we would make a good match?" Her comment was half-joke, half serious. Club members talked about how well many of Wayfinder's suggestions for matches turned out.

"I'd need more data," he said, "but I can do a quick look for both of you if you want. Just don't tell Sharpster I did it for free. "He got a thoughtful look. "You know, I wonder if Sharpster ever thought of expanding the database for that? We could use a modified version, since the matches are temporary. That'd make if less expensive."

"I'd use it," she agreed, "but that's not why you were venting, was it?" He gave her a sideways look. "Come on," she cajoled, "is there some mech you have your optic on?"

He vented again. "If there was, I'd talk to the mistress about it. No, I just don't understand why every mech that comes off the street thinks I want to be consort to some rich mech and never have to use my processor again in my existence. Liquidator can take all the time she wants to find me a consort. I'm in no hurry. " I want to find my own, he thought. Later rather than sooner, too.

She shook her head. "You work so hard. I don't think you stand still unless you're recharging. Don't you want to settle down?" There was wistful wonder in her voice. "Just think, consort to one of those high level Decepticons who comes in to the club, never having to worry about anything but tending the sparklings and the quarters, having the best of everything."

Don't I wish it was that simple, he thought. "Consorts work," he explained, surprising her. "But they only work in the family business, either their consort's or their own families. It's just that the master and family come first, and when the sparkling is new they need a lot of attention. But none of them would let me dance, or teach the little ones, or tend the bar. They might not even want me to do the interviews for Sharpster. "He made an exaggerated gesture of horror. "Can you imagine me, stuck in a house all day with no one to talk to but a sparkling? I'd glich in a few orns." He dropped the pose.

"But you do matches all the time," she protested. "They talk about how much they love their consorts and how happy both of them are. And didn't you just set up a match with your brother and some Seeker a few vorns ago? "

"The whole point of the database is to match personalities," he explained patiently. " Illusion's as happy as he can be, but what works for him won't work for me. Where is there a master that'll be as good to me as my mistress is? "

"Still," she said. "A consort's more secure, right? You make a mistake, Quid could sell you or exchange you or make you do nothing but datawork for that brother of yours that's got his wheels stuck in a rut, and there's nothing you could do. "She turned to head back to the supplies, calling over her shoulder, "I'd think about that if I were you."

Like you need to tell me about a slave's options, he thought dryly. Then he checked his chronometer and hurried to finish the stocking and head upstairs to the dance studio for his first class.

Liquidator reviewed the datapad with the invoice, comparing it with the one that showing the order. She was having trouble focusing on the prosaic work, and softly cursed. Sharpster's proposal sounded good last night, but today it preyed on her processor. He said it would be a reward for Wayfinder, and build them some goodwill with first generation mechs, but she kept wondering if Wayfinder would see it that way.

Finally she finished comparing the two datapads, which matched except for one item. There was a note on the invoice that the supply house was out of stock and would make a special delivery when the flavoring was available. She checked stores and they had enough for an orn or so. She authorized payment and dealt with some other datawork on her desk before viewing the finances for the vorn so far. The club profits were up again. The dance studio brought in a modest profit, up with the addition of the massage tables.

Her club here in Kaon flourished. When she first approached Swindle with the idea, he laughed at her. A club serving only energon mixes and treats, open to members and member guests only, serving no high grade, and relying on entertainment like dancing and music? She would never make a profit. He wanted her to manage one of his bars instead.

When she started looking for other investors, she found out about his plans for her two slave brothers. While she liked Illusion well enough, she loved the brother who raised her, and she made the bet with her sire. If she could take Wayfinder into her business and make a profit exceeding one of his businesses, he would sign Wayfinder over to her, with all rights. If she did not, he took over the club as another bar and she agreed to contract for a sparkling to any mech he chose. Sharpster did the same with Illusion, betting that the database would be enough to pay the reconstruction tax for both he and Swindle for a year. If he lost, he would work two shifts a day for a vorn to pay the tax.

She knew, as did Sharpster, that Wayfinder pulled them through. Between his dancing at the club and his skill at seeing what kind of personalities meshed well, they cleared the profits they needed in the time Swindle gave them. Bless our creator, she thought. Smokescreen, desperate to rescue his slave offspring from a short lifetime bearing sparkling after sparkling, told them to shell out the credits to a lawyer and make the bets into contracts, with amounts specified. Sure enough, Swindle tried to cheat both of them, and found himself the laughingstock of the city as a result.

Liquidator hissed to herself. How she hated Swindle now. He set up their creator Smokescreen for the same scheme, an agreement for Smokescreen to bear sparklings for each member of a collective working on the reconstruction. The collective that paid for the sparkling thought Swindle sold Smokescreen to them. Learning that first generation slaves could not be sold, they reported Swindle, who got rid of the evidence. They never found their creator's body, but there was a drone recording of Swindle forcing Smokescreen into a building and the building exploding.

Investigation showed Swindle's bars as covers for a lot of illegal activity, and in the end every cent of his wealth went to paying fines, while he served thirty vorns of penal hard labor alongside the corrupt official that made his activities possible. He deserved it, she thought bitterly, for killing their creator, especially when he was carrying. They never even found the body. Never was she so glad that she and Sharpster had legal deeds of transfer for Wayfinder and Illusion, because the collective sued to get one of them to replace the slave they lost and the state tried to confiscate them with the rest of his property.

Reaching for the last few datapads on her desk, she viewed them and vented. All of them held offers for Wayfinder, some for outright purchase and one with an exchange. She viewed to see if the slave possessed any skills she could use. The mech served as a bartender and helped with the datawork and supplies. She looked to see if the slave was on Sharpster's database and did not find him.

Liquidator wrote her her normal response to the purchase options on the datapads and arranged for delivery. She would not sell Wayfinder. She would exchange him in return for investment in her business, with the stipulation that he continue dancing for the club. Thus far, she mused, the sticking point was always the dancing. She said the same for the exchange. To all of the offers she added a recommendation to consider her brother's database to find consorts for unmatched masters if the terms were not acceptable. A lot of mechs found suitable consorts that way.

Then her processor went back to Windsong's request on behalf of his sire. Sharpster thought Wayfinder would see this as a reward, and certainly he deserved some pleasure in his life. He worked hard, and almost never asked for anything. She'd talk to Wayfinder about it tonight, after his dance.

She watched from the balcony as he moved through his routine. Tonight he started in a small ball, with the music soft. He unfolded as music began to move, and started with slow poses. Then, as the music picked up, he pulled out a rod and danced with the rod as a foil, whirling and twice throwing it as his movement picked up with the music. At the end, the music suddenly slowed, the rod disappeared, and he curled back into the ball. The audience loved it. When he left the dance floor, she commed him, "Looks like that went over well. Come up to the office for an astrosec."

When he got to the office she told him what Lightspeed needed.

At the shocked look on his face, she knew something was wrong, but she didn't know how wrong until he fell to his knees in the most sparkbreaking posture of submission she ever saw and started keening, asking what he'd done wrong. Worse, his engines started running so hard she commed the bar to get some coolant up to her office immediately. She dragged him to his feet and shoved him against the desk.

Nebula came in with the coolant. She was a neutral during the war, and she recognized the problem immediately. Shoving Liquidator aside, the server threw half the coolant into Wayfinder's face. To his mistress' relief, that brought him out of his shock, and his engine immediately slowed. "Thank you," Liquidator said. "I thought he'd seize up. 'Finder, you glitch, this is supposed to be a reward, not a punishment!"

This time he seemed to hear her, because he lowered his head and said, "Yes, Mistress."

Liquidator sent Nebula back to the bar and handed him the rest of the coolant. "Drink that. Now." She found some mesh towels and cleaned the coolant off his face and her desk. "All right. I want an explanation of this behavior, right now. Lightstream needs a sire for his consort. His only slave offspring is Harmony. You didn't have any problem with the idea of siring a sparkling with Harmony when Bluff was old enough, so why do you have a problem with this? Primus, you're acting like I'm pimping you out!"

"I'll see any child I sire with Harmony, and I know Sharpster will take good care of them," he said. His voice sounded dead, and he kept his head down. "If you require that I do this, I'll never see the sparkling, never know if he's being treated well, if he's thriving, or even if he's ever born. " His voice filled with static again toward the end of his recital.

"All the reasons Sharpster thought this would be a reward," she said bitterly. "Because you'd have a little bit of pleasure, and have offspring, but not have to worry about the result otherwise. " She reached over and coaxed him to lift his head. The misery on his face hurt her spark. "I already agreed to meet Lightspeed," she said. "That's why there's nothing on the schedule for you tomorrow. Nebula and Tapper are filling in for you, and there aren't any interviews. Get to the washracks and your berth."

He went, head still down and moving slowly. She opened a com to Windsong. "I just told 'Finder about your reward," she said.

Before she could get in her rant, he said, "Illusion's giving me the bent head and the dead voice since I told him. I've already talked to Sharpster and Harmony's almost as bad with the sad voice and the disappointed looks. Right now a drone would be more active in the berth for both of us. "

Good for them, she decided uncharitably, but that doesn't solve my problem. "Well, 'Finder almost seized up," she said. "They tell you why? " She opened her desk and pulled out a cube of high grade. She needed it.

"Illusion did. Hold on, I want to bring him into this." She waited, and heard when Illusion came on. "Hear me out, all right? My sire's caught between the slag heap and the smelter right now. Any master with a consort from the war has to show two living slave offspring from his consort within five years or he loses him. Lightspeed is very fond of my creator Bluestreak, and he doesn't want to lose him. "

She took a large swallow. The burn as it went down felt good. "So why Wayfinder? I thought the Seekers wanted doorwings or fliers from their slaves. For that matter, why not Illusion? Illusion has doorwings. "

"I'd be willing," Illusion said quickly. "That would keep it in the family, Windsong."

Windsong said unhappily, "That's exactly the problem. We're tracking the family lines carefully now to make sure we don't breed too close, and it's going to be worse for Skybolt and his generation. We need to go outside our own families for breeding. That, and Creator refused to consider you. He said that he couldn't bear carrying a child from his son's consort. "

"And what does choice have to do with it?" Liquidator demanded. "You're pushing me to force 'Finder!"

"My sire never forces my creator to breed," Windsong told them. "Having to push him is hard. But both of them know they don't have choices left on this. Creator doesn't want another master, so he has to breed a slave. My sire hopes that he'll consent to Wayfinder because he's beautiful, and his creator was a Praxian with doorwings."

Illusion snorted. "So why did you suggest him? Because he's attached to your family?" He still sounded bitter. "Without asking me first how he might react?"

"I brought up Wayfinder because he's kind. Creator needs someone kind. Wayfinder listens to anyone who comes to the bar. I never talked to him without feeling better. I want that for my Creator. Talk to him, Quid. We're desperate. Talk to him. "


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own Transformers except in my daydreams. Please see author's notes at the end of the chapter.

Dance of Sparks, Chapter 3

Wayfinder stared at the ceiling for a time, and then swung up. Recharge wasn't coming back, not with the high grade wearing off. He might as well get some work done.

After his embarrassing brush with seizing up, he stood in the washracks and firmed his resolve. His mistress knew how he felt. If she insisted, he would obey, but they wouldn't get the result they wanted. If no spark kindled, they wouldn't try again, for fear of lowering his value.

In the slave schools, all students learned a basic, state-approved curriculum. Students who came during the day like Harmony, or the ones who lived in but only stayed a few vorns like Illusion, got the basic curriculum and little more. Wayfinder went in as an infant, a hostage Swindle held to keep Smokescreen in line. Not until Smokescreen carried Swindle's second sparkling did Wayfinder come home to help. One of the lessons he learned included means to limit or increase fertility, and the means to abort an unwanted spark.

Stepping back into his room, he found Liquidator standing by his berth with a cube in her servos. He looked down, afraid she'd see the resentment on his face. "Sit," she commanded, and held out the cube. Head still down he sat, took the cube, and sipped. He almost spit it out. He tasted high grade only once before, sneaking a lingering sip left in Master Swindle's cube back when he was a youngling, and never understood what other mechs saw in it. When he got down a few burning swallows, she sent him a databurst. Between the desperation of Windsong's plea and the warmth of the high grade spreading though him, he relaxed a little.

"Better?" she asked, and he nodded. "We're still going to meet, and you decide, all right? I'm not going to force you to do this, but I want you to see if it's possible. "He sat up straight and looked up, to see the tension in her stance ease. "Drink the rest of that so you can get a good recharge. "

As he forced down the rest of the high grade, matters looked easier. Liquidator was a Deception, but she loved him. He didn't want to understand why she agreed in the first place, but he did. Decepticons from the Great War ran this world. Seekers held a high status in that circle. Lightspeed possessed connections Sharpster and Liquidator needed. For her to give him a chance to refuse meant she risked losing that connection.

At the same time-Windsong's plea hit a soft spot. Wayfinder loved helping people solve problems, whether they needed a sympathetic ear, the right consort, or his own special talent. He could look at mechs and femmes and know more about them than they knew about themselves. How, he did not know. He just did. The more he worked the bar, or danced, or taught, the easier he read personalities.

If his mistress would let him choose, and he could help Wayfinder's creator- well. Besides, this was a family connection. Harmony surely stayed in contact with her creator and would pass on how his offspring was doing. He dispersed the cube, lay down, and in the next moment went into recharge.

Now, awake and rested, he went to the dance floor to practice, seeking comfort in routine. He stretched to vigorous music and worked through a few familiar sets, before walking the club. This time the drones missed several corners, and finishing those took some time. The bar stocked, he pulled out the datapad that held the matching database, and began to work through the coding.

Part of his extra curriculum included how to deal with masters. "Masters see slaves as property," the ancient neutral told them." So a slave must aim first at being valuable property." Thus he must learn his master, the quirks, the likes and dislikes, and the needs they didn't know they had- in time gaining an invisible influence over the master. Wayfinder excelled in reading others, eventually coming to see that something in him worked seamlessly with his training.

Smokescreen noticed. When Wayfinder explained about the training, his creator not only approved, he told his talented offspring about the personality tests humans used, and they started noting similarities in Cybertronians. Wayfinder created the program with him. Neither of them ever dreamed how well the program would work when they gave it to Sharpster to integrate with the database. Wanting more choices than the slaves they knew, second generation Decepticons urged their parents to register their slave siblings, and registered themselves. Even now, the database generated as much profit as the rest of Sharpster's business.

Wayfinder considered the different situations with Decepticons who chose to carry their own offspring. First, most could not afford a slave, which meant limited access to credit for both parties. He lined up other differences, making a mental note to speak to Tapper and other employees. Liquidator found him bent over the datapad, his processor focused on the problem in front of him until she commed him to come to the office. He stored the datapad and went.

"I just got pinged by Lightspeed," she said and looked him over carefully. "Get a quick wash and a light polish before he gets here." Her voice softened. "Stand behind me, and I'll com you after we hear what he has to say. " He bowed and left, hearing her vent as he exited.

Sometime later, he stood behind her as instructed, dividing his attention between the Seeker and the cloaked figure that walked behind him. As the door shut behind them, the Seeker reached out and drew his companion against him. After a terse greeting, he said, "I spoke to Windsong this morning. " He looked from Liquidator to Wayfinder. "He said you were having second thoughts, and to ask you why."

The dancer barely managed to keep his head down and his frame still when his mistress said, "Wayfinder raised me and then Illusion. He can't stand the idea of siring a sparkling and never seeing the bitlet again. If he," she emphasized the 'he', "consents to this, we'll find a way for him to see the sparkling regularly. "

"Spoil him, don't you?" Lightspeed said dryly. Before she could respond, he added, "Good. Youngling, look up," he commanded, and Wayfinder obeyed, meeting the optics of the grey and white Seeker for only a moment before his own strayed to the mech that emerged from underneath the cloak. "This is Bluestreak. " A blue and silver mech with a Praxian doorwinged frame, he reminded Wayfinder of his creator, as did the blue optics.

The dancer looked at how the Seeker held Bluestreak against him, protective instead of possessive. He noted how Bluestreak leaned his helm against the larger mech. So, he trusted his master. The doorwinged mech examined his prospective lover with wariness that changed to interest. He glanced up at Lightspeed. Wayfinder could tell they were talking by com. "I know your creator was Smokescreen," the Seeker said. "Who was your sire?" He held up his servo to Liquidator when she started to speak. "Let him answer."

"I don't know," Wayfinder said. "Creator and Master Swindle were caught in the mist incident and got separated. Creator told me he didn't remember anything between when the mist hit and when he woke in the infirmary orns later. "

Lightspeed sucked in air and vented slowly. "I see. " Bluestreak gave them a questioning look. "It was an accidental gas release. The ones who didn't die didn't remember what happened to them. " He looked at Wayfinder. "I'm surprised you survived. "

The dancer shrugged. "They were looking for Lord Soundwave and found Creator at the same time. Glit was one of the medics, and he insisted on Creator coming to him for a checkup every decaorn. " Everyone nodded; Glit's compassion was almost a legend. He sent a com to Liquidator, who sent amused agreement back.

"We offer massage services in the back rooms," she said. "I rent rooms to the ones who offer those services to other Decepticons, but 'Finder does massages and polishes for consorts and other slaves. There's a charge for the room and materials, of course." She did not employ the masseuses, only setting a minimum charge and minimum variety of services. If they chose to offer more varied ones, they could; all of them agreed to help if a client got mean and all of them liked Wayfinder.

"Go along, both of you,"Lightspeed said, his tone amused. Wayfinder went to the door, Bluestreak behind him. Liquidator looked up the masseuse in charge and contacted her on the com. "Wayfinder's on his way," she said, and explained why. The response made her laugh. "Tickler said I should have told her first and let her give him some training," she reported to the puzzled Seeker. "Said she'd have done it for free to get that pretty aft on her table. He's still got both his seals."

Lightspeed started laughing. "Don't worry. That won't be a problem. " He brought a datapad out of subspace and stood. "Is the club open? I'd like one of those energon mixes Windsong's told me about while I get some datawork done." If I know my Blue, that little dancer of yours just signed up for a thorough education with as many demonstrations as he can handle, and that might take a while."

Liquidator gave him a temporary pass for the club and buckled down to her own work. The mid-day crowd came and went. Finally she heard from Tickler. "I just directed that mech to the washracks," she reported, her com rich with laughter. "I'm going to need some help with 'Finder." Liquidator detoured to the club to pick up Lightspeed, who worked over his datapad in the sparsely populated bar with a half-full cube at his elbow.

They got there just as Bluestreak emerged from the washracks. He looked wonderful. Part of that upgrade in his appearance came from the shiny gloss of a full polish, which remained despite the washracks, but the blue and silver mech radiated a smug satisfaction as well. He sauntered over to his master and said in a harsh voice, "Wayfinder's in a deep defrag, Mistress Liquidator. " He ignored the respectful, if mirthful, looks from the masseuses as the Seeker put out an arm and pulled him closer.

"Wore him out, did you?" Lightspeed asked, and Bluestreak hissed with laughter. "Did he spark you?"

"If he ain't sparked it ain't for lack of trying," Tickler boomed out, as the other unoccupied masseuses leaned against the wall howling with laughter. "Do us a favor, Seeker, and carry 'Finder to his berth. He's in a deep defrag. Last room on the right."

The seeker took in the rooms as he followed the directions. The walls were painted a light blue, with a slot for a datapad by each door. The datapad held the name of the masseuse, services, and prices. Some of the services and prices looked standard. The extra services varied. He emerged from the room indicated with the dancer in his arms. For a moment Liquidator worried, but she could hear his slow vents. She led Lightspeed to their private rooms, Bluestreak trailing behind them. "We'll let you know in twenty orns if he's sparked or not," he said, and she nodded.

Orns later, Wayfinder looked up as a large blue, red and grey mech sat down at the bar. He smiled at one of his favorite customers and after a quick confirmation, started to mix his preferred drink. Master Tronis was one of his favorite members. Unfortunately, he knew the inspector would never let him dance in public, which meant his regular bids got refused just as regularly. "How's my favorite dancer?" the mech asked. "Still walking straight?"

Wayfinder mock-threatened to throw the drink, and the mech pretended to duck. "No one is ever going to let me live that down, Master Tronis," the dancer pouted as he expertly poured out the drink and placed it on the bar with several rust sticks. "Why Tickler just had to share that story with half of Kaon I'll never understand."

"You missed a dance night," Tronis reminded him. "Members wanted to know why. Amethyst is good, but not as good as you are." Tronis rarely missed a dance night when he was in Kaon, though his work required a fair amount of travel. He worked full time as an inspector. While he was vague about his job, Wayfinder knew it involved a lot of authority.

"I gave a private one early," he shot back, and Tronis rumbled laughter. "Besides, I'm dancing tonight to make up for it, with a new song. How is the work going?" Tronis chatted a bit, until another mech came up to claim his attention and Wayfinder slipped away.

As he polished, he cast his processor back to the reason behind the deep defrag. All his existence, everyone assumed he resembled his creator, just having a gift for reading body language, tones, and fields that enhanced his training. Now he knew better. The interfacing woke something in him.

He let the memories surface again.

At first he gave the sad former Autobot a standard polish, letting him get used to having a stranger's hands on his chassis. After he felt Bluestreak relax under his hands, he asked about his designation. He seemed to remember from his creator's stories about the war that Bluesteak talked a lot, and he expected a flood of words.

"A translation of a human term," came the response, in a harsh whisper, "for someone who talks a lot. Right after the war ended, one of my guards got annoyed, and damaged my vocalizer. No one's ever been able to completely repair it." For a time he fell silent, before he said, "Tell me about your brother Sharpster."

"You haven't met him?" Wayfinder stopped. Had he made a mistake? If Lightspeed was that possessive-

"No. Lightspeed-"he stopped for a time, and the way his doorwings sagged showed more about his feelings than any words. "When the decree went out that all of us had to spark two slave offspring, I protested," he sent through the com, as Wayfinder started to work on his wings. "So did all of us, the Consort on down. Slavery was our punishment for losing. To force that on a newspark-" he keened softly. "But I already had three offspring, and they told us that unless I sparked twice, they'd restricts my little mech's rights. I couldn't do that. I lost one, but held on to Harmony. He let me keep him as long as possible, but once he got old enough our offspring needed consorts, and Sharpster found three for them. When it came time for him to leave, Lightspeed thought it better for both of us to make a clean break. He didn't want me to sour Harmony's chances with the new master. Windsong brings me holos and reports. "

Wayfinder considered. Then he talked about Sharpster, about the deal he made with Swindle to save Illusion. Bluestreak perked up, both from the story and from the attention to his sensitive doorwings. In one swift move, Bluestreak swiveled and grabbed. Wayfinder discovered he lay on his back looking up at Bluestreak's blue optics. Time to break a seal," Bluestreak hummed, and somehow that harsh whisper sent Wayfinder's engines revving. "It's been a while since I've been on top." Servos slipped into joints and then down. Wayfarer yelped at a sudden pinch, and Bluestreak laughed as he moved and Wayfinder moaned in pleasure.

Then his world fractured into feeling not only his pleasure, but Bluestreak's, and Bluestreak's need to dominate even if for a short time and his worry over what would happen to the newspark, and the relief that this mech would look after it as well, and hope that Harmony was happy, and remembering other mechs he'd topped in his time, especially a yellow one whose memory came with a burst of loss softened by time, before everything whited out in a shared overload.

Being alone in his own processor again was a relief. Bluestreak laughed in his audial. "That was just the first round," he murmured in his harsh voice. "My turn to rev you up a bit." The second round left Wayfinder understanding Bluestreak's guilt over leaving a legacy of slavery.

"Remember we shape the next generation," he said in Bluestreak's audial, so softly that someone standing next to them would not hear, much less anyone listening by the door. "Harmony told me his brothers wanted him to be happy. Sharpster and Liquidator risked a lot for me and Illusion. You and my creators committed the ultimate sin." Bluestreak hissed at that. "You lost. But we bear and raise the little ones. Yes? We influence our masters, mistresses, yes?" Bluestreak nodded against him. The pain eased. It didn't go away, but it eased. Then Bluestreak distracted both of them.

Between loss of his normal recharge, the vigorus interfacing, and the crash of information to process, Wayfinder lay in a deep defrag until his internal alarm went off to begin a new orn.

He forced his mind back to the mirror. As thanks, Lightspeed sent over some music, and one of the pieces made him think of Bluestreak and another dance he seldom did anymore. He experimented and discovered with pleasure that with a few changes at the beginning, the routine worked well with the song. When he was satisfied he had the changes down, he stopped the music and turned to see Tapper standing at the door with a stunned expression. "How was it?" he asked her.

She nodded. "You're doing that tonight?" she asked. At his affirmative answer, she added, "I think I might just come in to watch when you're polished and you have the lights on you. " Together they went to stock the bar. Before he went up to teach, she said, "Just a suggestion? Don't use the sparkly polish, use the high gloss."

He considered. "Are you really going to come?" She nodded. He pinged Liquidator and made a request. She thought it was a good idea. "Would you record the dance?" If it looked good, he'd send it to Bluestreak. She promised to record for him, as long as she could keep a copy.

In the mirror, his high gloss polish looked good and even. He headed for the lift that would put him on the dance floor. He could hear the sound of dancing above him. When the song ended, the noise of pedes stopped. He stood on the lift and waited for the signal that the floor was clear. The first notes of the dance music started as he appeared and fell into pose.

The music held a strong fierce beat and within a few moves it sucked him in. He thought of Bluestreak, whose life held so much pain, but who reached for every chance at joy he found and pulled everything he could from it. He thought of the interfacing, and the chance that a new life glowed in the older mech's chassis.

The last few notes hit, and he ended in the same pose he started. When silence greeted the ending, he looked up, and his gaze locked with that of Master Tronis, who stood almost a head taller than most of the members. For that instant, he connected, getting enjoyment of the dance and an aching longing for the dancer. Lights strobed, and he felt the lift descend into the dimmer lights below the dance floor. He could still hear the noise above him as he headed the Liquidator's office. Tapper met him on the way.

"I was watching from above," she said, her intakes quick and shallow. Her red optics glowed. "I've never seen you do better. Wait until you see the holo! " She grinned as they entered the office. "And the floor was packed. "

"It certainly was," the mistress agreed. Tapper played the holo. As he watched, he realized that the night with Bluestreak forever changed his dancing style. A new knowledge of what his body was capable of crept in, and not one of the member watching missed it. He remembered the connection between him and Master Tronis just before he left the dance floor. "I spoke to Lightspeed to arrange sending the holo," she added, "and Bluestreak is sparked." She paused. "And depressed. He's hoping the holo will cheer him up. "

"I'd think so," Tapper agreed, and left when she got her copy.

When the server was gone, Liquidator beckoned him over. "Close the door," she said. He did, and she went on, "Lightspeed spoke to Sharpster. It seems that several Decepticons have consorts with one or no slave offspring. They want a version of the database to find good matches. They're offering good credits, and this could get all of us some needed contacts." She paused. "I told him that you're not on sale for stud, and he yelled at me for even thinking it. He called because he does need you to help him with the database."

He hesitated. "Quid," he said. She gave him a sharp look. Using her nickname meant he needed something important. "I think we need to find me a master," he told her. "Soon."

She misunderstood him. "We're not putting you out for stud. We won't even put you in the database. All we have to do is put together the database and get them their matches, and we're out of it." She talked instead about how to juggle his work on the database with his club duties. He didn't argue with her willful blindness.

He got with Sharpster and they reworked the database. As promised, Sharpster and Liquidator kept his name out of it. The work took about twenty orns. Wayfinder took the time to propose the idea of the non-consort matching database, and Sharpster agreed to look at the idea once this one finished.

Then the real work started. The next few vorns rushed by.

"I almost never see you anymore," Tronis complained one afternoon, when he came in for an energon during his work break. "The new staff is good, but not like you." Wayfinder gave him a wan smile as he mixed his drink and fetched some hardened energon pastries to go with it. "Word is your brother's company put together that matching database vorns ago." The decree regarding a time limit for the first generation slaves generated a lot of public interest, as had the news about the database.

"Yes, Master Tronis. The last I heard, we've had a ninety percent success rate in sparkings for the matches. They say a new school's being planned already."

"That's true. " He paused. "I've gotten a report," he added gently. "Someone's complained that you're being set up for stud. Is it true?"

Wayfinder looked around. The club showed its normal level of customers, but most used the club during work hours as a place for business meetings, and used tables or booths. Only Tronis sat at the bar. Quite some time ago, Wayfinder figured out that despite being second generation, Tronis held a high position. He didn't flaunt it at the club, but only the offspring of a high-level Decepticon would get such a position so young no matter how capable he was. On several occasions he'd questioned Wayfinder officially. His title of inspector covered more than buildings. "You know I sired one sparkling for a family connection," he told Tronis. "

"Me and half of Kaon," Tronis agreed. He sipped at his energon. "This is more recent. You said about ninety percent of the matches work. What about the other ten percent?"

"We've been helping," Wayfinder admitted. "I'm not in the database; many of the partners spark each other. My brother Illusion got sparked that way. " Illusion wasn't in the database. He and Fireflight caught sight of each other when Windsong brought Thundercracker and his consort in for an interview due to a difficult matching. Their optics met, and within a few joors they were on Wayfinder's berth. The story kept everyone in the club laughing for days. Both birthed sturdy fliers, delighting the masters of both.

"And how have you been helping?" Tronis asked.

"Interviews for difficult matches, just like the consort service," Wayfinder said. "Arrangements for sparkings here. The masseuses love it; they're making a ton of credits. We've been helping with some of the difficult carriers, the way I did for Bluestreak when he almost lost the sparkling."

Tapper came up with a new order, and as he filled it, Tronis asked her about work. "It's going great," she told him, "ever since we opened up the new lounge for the ones who like it quiet. I've almost saved enough for a sparkling, though I promised the boss I'd wait to the end of that five-vorn decree mess. I tell you, 'Finder's been doing more work with keeping consorts from losing sparks than he ever did dancing. How he finds time to practice I don't know."

"Early in the orn, and sometimes it's the only thing keeping me sane," the dancer said as he handed her the order. "That and the dance I still do once a week. " Tapper went off with her orders.

"You haven't answered my question," Tronis said when she was out of audial range.

Wayfinder found a mesh towel and started wiping down the bar. "When anyone inquires, my mistress is telling them that I'm not a consort so I'm not qualified. She'll offer instead for me to do an interview, and help them find someone. " All of that was true.

"And so what is this I hear about your siring a sparkling with First Aid and with Bumblebee?" the inspector asked. Wayfinder turned to look at him. "Those are the ones I know of. Are there any more?"

Wayfinder vented. "Those were special circumstances," he admitted. "Both lost over four sparks, and both of them want to stay with their masters. So I asked Quid if we could make just those two exceptions, if the masters would agree to our terms. "

Tronis considered. "What were the terms?"

"Constant supervision for both, with them staying here if they weren't with their masters. Work as allowed by the midwife only, to be done here if possible. And I get to see the sparklings at agreed intervals, here or at the school when they're old enough. " His entire being lit up when he thought about the sparklings. He remembered how he'd connected to both consorts. First Aid and Bumblebee missed humans, missed the planet they had to leave behind. They buried their longings in work. Then, they worked too hard and lost the spark. When their masters made them stop working, the guilt over bearing a slave and their longing for the other world overwhelmed them and they lost the spark. Once he knew the problem, he got them past it.

Tronis nodded and concentrated on his pastry. "I'll want to confirm all this," he warned when he finished. Wayfinder nodded, not concerned. Tronis's field softened a little. "When are you going to get a master?" he asked, half teasing and half serious.

By this time, Wayfinder knew his time was up. The higher level Decepticons were not interested in pretty dancers or database builders, but they did appreciate organization and problem-solving skills. More than one lord or master commented that his skills were wasted and hinted at pushing an arrangement with a particular second generation master at the Palace. He gave them and Tronis the standard answer. "You'll have to speak to the mistress about that," he said. He wished Master Tronis was an option. He liked the large mech a great deal. But like most masters, he did not want his consort to dance in public. "But Quid isn't taking any offers until the five-vorn period is up."

He didn't say that he was actively looking himself. There had to be a master somewhere willing to invest in the club and let him keep dancing. He'd find one.

A/N If anyone has ideas for Autobot/Decepticon pairings, let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own Transformers. Hasbro got there first.

Thanks to those who review, follow and favorite.

Dance of Sparks, Chapter Four

"Hey, 'Finder," Nebula said, coming into the dance studio, "you've got Tronis asking for you downstairs-" she stopped . The large mech behind her stopped too. He could hear music, and saw how the server leaned against the door, so he eased up behind her and looked over her head.

He saw a large room, bare of any furniture or decoration, with two black and dark blue mechs dancing on it. As he craned his neck to see better, he realized that there was only one mech and his reflection in the mirrors that covered the opposite wall. He got glimpses of white and blue against Wayfinder, and realized after a time that he held a sparkling as he moved to the simple dance tune. For a time the server and the inspector watched together. Nebula vented and turned to leave. "Record that for me?" she whispered, and he nodded.

Not long after, the sparkling's head fell to the dancer's shoulder. Tronis got a glimpse of her optics as she shuttered them; they were a soft violet color. The dancer turned off the music and headed for a corner where there was a portable sparkling berth, and laid the little one down before walking over to the inspector. "Welcome to our dance studio, Master Tronis," Wayfinder greeted him. "I hope you didn't wait long, I hoped to get her into recharge before I spoke with you."

"I enjoyed the wait," Tronis said sincerely. "Who is the little one? She has lovely optics."

"My sparkling with First Aid," Wayfinder said fondly. "Pathseeker. She's as sweet as her creator, and almost as hard to get into recharge." He looked up at the inspector. "Nebula and my mistress said this was official regarding Blades."

Tronis nodded, his demeanor becoming more serious. "I'm glad Hover had the good sense to get your help. I spoke to him and to Quid downstairs. He asked me to speak to you before I interviewed Blades. Quid approved. She said I picked a good time." He sounded puzzled.

"Master Hover brought him for a massage and the massage ended when First Aid arrived for my visit with Pathseeker. " Wayfinder smiled. "So we can talk while they visit." He grew serious. "How can I help you?" Tronis asked a few questions, and Wayfinder talked.

Two red and white mechs walked into the room and headed for the corner where the sparkling recharged a joor later. The heliformer held the sparkling while the grounder packed up the portable berth. As he finished, a green and purple Decepticon came in. "Come along, First, we need to get the bitlet home," Scavenger said fondly, taking the portable berth and putting an arm around the medic holding the sleeping sparkling. With a polite word to Tronis and Wayfinder, he left, leaving the heliformer standing in the corner. Wayfinder walked over.

"Blades, this is Master Tronis. You need to answer his questions. "Blades stood rigid. Wayfinder stood in front of him. "Blades. " Wayfinder took his shoulders, forcing the other slave to look at him. Something passed between them. Then Wayfinder let go and took Blades' servo to lead him to the inspector. "Come on, there's a waiting room we can use where we'll be more comfortable."

Joors later Tronis met with Hover and Liquidator at a table in the bar. There were two Decepticons across the room, leaning over a datapad and oblivious to anything else. He kept his voice down anyway. "It's an unusual situation," he told them, and sipped at his energon mix. "Hover, his story matches yours. Onslaught didn't pay his reconstruction tax with work or credits, so the state arrested him and sent him to a remote work camp. He made no arrangements for Blades and left Blades without enough energon and no credits to buy more, when you were out of reach. From the medical report I read, not only was he close to losing the sparkling, but in such poor shape himself that he was in danger of dying from the shock of the loss. That can't be overlooked, not with our population still so low."

Both Liquidator and Hover nodded impatiently. At a noise they all looked across the room, where the two businessmechs settled their tab with Nebula and left. Tronis relaxed a little and went on in a normal voice.

"The medical report states that Blades shows signs of abuse. I've got more than enough for a reassignment. We've got a list longer than I am of soldiers from the war willing to take any kind of consort. " At the unhappy look on Hover's face, he added, "We screen the potential masters before they go on the waiting list. All of them have good records and are able to support a consort and sparklings but can't find a consort." Without an exchange or family/friend connection, buying a consort stayed finanacially beyond the reach of most mechs. "We need to decide what to do with the bitlet. I'm not sure he should raise the sparkling. "

"Onslaught's in no condition to take care of a sparkling, but I can." Hover sat with his rotors folded and twitching with his agitation. "There's no other family. Heliformers aren't that common. He'll need me. I earn a good salary and benefits at my work and I can provide proof of that. There's no reason to put my sibling up for adoption if I can care for him." He leaned forward so that the light glinted off his orange and brown plating.

Tronis knew the heliformer earned more credits than most mechs with families did. "If he weren't sparked, Blades would already be in state custody awaiting reassignment," he reminded Hover, who relaxed. "I'll leave him with you until he births. He'll have a groon to make his decision."

"So what happens, either way?" Hover asked. He looked around, but it was the slow time of the cycle and still empty. Nebula moved around the other end of the room, cleaning up. "What do I need to do?"

"If he wants to keep the bitlet, we'll search the database for a master willing to take them both and adopt the bitlet. There are plenty of them. If he doesn't, then family is better than a stranger, but you need to understand what you're getting into." He listed the responsibilities of anyone raising a sparkling. "Do you have some family able to help you with all this?" he asked.

"He has Sharpster and me," Liquidtor said. "Swindle was a gestalt-mate with Onslaught. That makes him a family connection. Besides, if anyone knows what it's like to have a glitch for sire, we do. " Tronis understood why Hover brought Blades here for help. "Considering Brawl and Blast-off off-lined in the war and Vortex did the same about when Hover got out of school, there's no one else."

No to mention that Hover's position as a reconstruction planner put him in an influential position, Tronis thought. That, and without any other family and no known expensive habits, he probably had credits to invest. "It would help if you had a consort," he went on.

"Oh, I'm arranging for a wonderful one," Hover said, and exchanged a smug look wit Liquidator. "He's raised two of his siblings, and he can still work with his family's business until he sparks. They're willing to help make arrangements for sparkling care for my sibling. We still need to get the final papers drawn up, but the arrangements are made. I won't say who until we have everything finalized. "

Part of the reason Tronis kept his membership in the club involved hearing rumors; the place buzzed constantly with gossip. He never heard about a pending consort for Hover. "Congratulations," he managed. "I hope everything goes well for you. Which reminds me, Quid. We're using Sharpster's database."

"Good," she said. "I'll be glad when this five-vorn mess is over." She looked around the bar with a satisfied air. "I'm hoping to expand a bit soon."

Tronis had some idea how much she'd earned from the five vorn mess; it was more than enough to fund expansion. Her business increased when she creatred the 'quiet' section for those who didn't like loud music. "Speaking of the database," he went on, "I could use Wayfinder's help with some of the harder situations, the way he's helped with Windsong and some of the others. Can my office make some arrangements with you?"

Nebula walked by to ask Liquidator a question. Liquidator answered and sent her out to work in the supply room, as the bar was empty of anyone else. Tronis databurst her the recording of Wayfinder dancing with the sparkling. "Please keep this quiet for now," she said, "but I'm in active arrangements with a master for Wayfinder. "

That news sent an unpleasant shock through Tronis. He knew she refused many generous offers to keep Wayfinder dancing for her, several of his included. Who did she find willing to let their consort keep dancing in public? "I see," he said. "When you're made the arrangements, would you let the Decepticon know I asked? He could still do interviews when he's sparked." She nodded, and he stood to take his leave. "I'll check back about every ten cycles until he births. Let me know when he does. Onslaught will be served with the datapad telling him about the reassignment by his reconstruction supervisor. By the time he comes off his tax detail, everything should be settled. "

A few orns later he learned how wrong he could be.

On the dance floor, the music thumped as members stomped through a line dance. When the current song ended, Tronis left the floor and slid through the crowd and headed for the bar, hoping to see Wayfinder. Instead he encountered Tapper, who waved at him as he approached. "That consort Blades, he's birthed," she reported. "Hover brought him for a massage, and Wayfinder sent for the midwife right away. Went so fast they didn't have time to move him to the birthing center, he had that little femme right here just a joor ago. Medic's still here, tending him. Hover and Quid couldn't get you, and said if you showed up please head up the back way."

He nodded and headed up. As he neared Liquidator's office, he met Wayfinder with a bundle in his arms and an adoring smile on his face. "The medic said to show you the sparkling first and then I'm to bring you to them. " He led the way to the dance studio's waiting room, placed his bundle on a soft chair and removed the warming blanket. "She's big for a newborn, Bertha said, but look," he turned the sparkling, "she's going to be a heliformer, like Blades and Hover. " He saw the beginnings of a rotary. The sparkling began to fuss. Wayfinder bundled her again, cooing as he did, and she calmed, shuttering bright red optics as he soothed her back into recharge. To Tronis, he never looked more beautiful. "Blades and Bertha are this way." He nodded to their left.

"Bertha?" Tronis asked as they walked down a hall. "Isn't that a human name?" Wayfinder could only shrug. Hover looked out of a door and waved them in, looking harassed. He stopped the dancer to peer at the sparkling and ask anxiously if she was all right.

"She's so tiny," he fretted as all of them entered the room. It held a berth and some shelves with a few impersonal comforts on them.

That got a snort from a hefty yellow and brown grounder doing something to the mech lying on the berth. She stood up, wiping her hands on a mesh towel. "That sparkling is not tiny. She is a large, healthy femme who will be driving her caretaker insane with her antics within the next vorn." She turned to Wayfinder. " I've done what I can for her creator, bring her over. By the way, you did an excellent job with Blades. Where did you learn about delivering a sparkling?"

The dancer squirmed under the inspector's surprised look. "I was with my creator when Mistress Liquidator and Illusion were born," he explained, looking embarrassed. "Besides, everything happened so fast- one moment he was having pain and in the next his chestplates were opening up."

"My point exactly. " She helped prop Blades up and took the sparkling from Wayfinder. "Here," she said to Blades.

He reached out and took the recharging bundle. "Tailspin," he whispered. He looked at Hover. "Can you keep him away? Please?" He keened, cradling the sparkling against him. "You won't let him take her?" He keened again. "I can't stand to have her taken from me like the others. Please. Please."

The inspector said, "Blades." The mech turned to him, exhaustion in every move he made. "No one is taking the sparkling from you." His voice held authority and Blades quieted. "Others," Tronis added slowly. "What others? " He looked at the midwife, whose grim expression warned him the news would not be pleasant. "I was under the impression that this was his second sparkling."

"Ha," she spat. Bertha pulled a cube out of subspace and beckoned Wayfinder over to help Blades drink it. "Drink all of that, you need it," she commanded. She walked over to Tronis, waved Hover over, and lowered her voice. "With a gap of as many vorns as there were between him," she pointed at Hover, "and the newspark, the birth should take as long as a first one. This isn't his second. A quick birth happens when a creator's had sparkling after sparkling, one after another, vorn after vorn. "

Tronis nodded grimly. Hover only looked bewildered. "But that sounds like Creator's been-" and stopped.

"Like he's been sold as a breeder," the midwife said bluntly. "I've seen one other case like this. " She sounded bitter. "Blades is lucky. He's still alive. "

Hover looked devastated. He turned and walked over to the berth, where Blades curled protectively over the sparkling. "Creator," he asked softly, "is it true? " He looked at the sparkling. "Is she my sibling?" The midwife waved Tronis and Wayfinder back with her and they withdrew to give the two an illusion of privacy.

"Onslaught sired her," Blades said, his voice barely audible. He didn't look at any of them, only staring at the wall. "I didn't say anything before he left. If I sparked from him, he beat me until I lost it. I hoped I could get hold of you, and if I couldn't, well, at least it would be over."

"Don't talk like that," Hover said, alarmed. "Is that why he drove me away? So he could pimp you out?" His voice became bitter. "Didn't you think I'd help you?"

"I couldn't tell you," Blades whispered. "You remember how he was, after Vortex get himself killed in that bar fight and he got more and more into the high grade. You reminded him too much of Vortex when you got older. It was why he drove you away." He vented slowly, turning the keen into a smothered whimper. "When you left he got worse. He got so he never worked anymore. He just gambled. When he lost too much one night, he bet me."

"To do what?" Hover asked. Blades keened softly. "Creator. Please. What did he bet you for?"

"Breeding." Wayfinder stifled his own whimper with his hands. The midwife patted him on the back comfortingly. Blades described a slave's worst nightmare. The creator vented, trying to stay calm, as he went on, "It got to be a relief, to be away from him. None of them trusted Onslaught, they always insisted I stay with them until the birth. They'd treat me well, the sires, but they didn't dare report him because they wanted the sparkling. "He moved to curl around the sparkling protectively.

"No one can take the sparkling from you," Tronis repeated. "Onslaught's already proven he's not capable of caring for a consort or a sparkling. You can stay with Hover until you're reassigned. There are plenty of decent soldiers out there willing to take in a consort with a sparkling." He caught Hover's eye and jerked his head toward the door. Before he could say anything, he got a comm from Liquidator. "Onslaught is outside," Liquidator told him tightly. "He's overcharged and seriously torqued off. Can you come? I've called the Enforcers and they're on the way, they were looking for him already."

"You bet I am," he growled. "Actually, this will make my job easier. I can serve him with the reassignment and custody notification in front of witnesses. "He turned. "One of you, be ready to bring the sparkling-"

"That glitch!" she wailed over the comm. "He just forced his way in!"

Tronis ran, Hover behind him. He found Onslaught and Liquidator facing off on the dance floor. The murmur of mechs echoed in the room with the music off. The customers ranged along the walls as though this was an entertainment and not a standoff. Tronis saw a shadow move and glanced up to see mechs on the balcony above, some with wings. "Where's my slave?" the former gestalt leader snarled. "I got a notice about Blades being sparked. He won't be when I get done with him. I'll have no offspring by an Autobot."

The room went dead quiet. "And what do you call me?" Hover asked, coming from behind Tronis and standing by Liquidator. "Are you saying I'm not yours, Sire?"

Onslaught looked at him. Anguish twisted his stance and he roared, "Why do you have to look so much like him?" He vented harshly. Tronis felt as bewildered as Hover looked. "Fool, Vortex was your creator. We didn't know how to deal with a sparkling. We were Combaticons! So we left you to the Autobot."

"You're too late," Hover told him. "I have a little sister now. " He turned and left.

The inspector got a comm that the enforcers waited outside. "Not that it matters, since the state takes custody of both for abandonment and neglect," Tronis told him. He took the datapad from subspace and sent the official notice, getting an automatic ping when the databurst ended. He waited as Onslaught took in the information. Around him bored folks began to drift elsewhere and the noise level rose again. "This is a private club. Leave."

"Birthed already?" Onslaught asked. "All right then. I got a right to see it. Where is it?" That got the attention of the members, and some of them agreed that he had the right to see the sparkling. Liquidator told him via comm that she intended to let the enforcers in and slid away.

"Here." The crowd parted as Hover appeared, Wayfinder behind him, carrying the sparkling. Mechs and femmes alike craned to see the sparkling in their favorite dancer's arms. Somewhat awkwardly the new older sibling took the bundle and moved closer. She looked up at her sire with bright red optics.

In the next moment she started screaming, as Onslaught snatched her and twisted to kick his male offspring away. In the next astrosecond the Combaticon lifted her above his head and started to dash her down. Tronis stepped up and drove his doubled fist into the mech's chassis and the wailing sparkling flew from her sire's servos, only to be grabbed from the air by a dark blurr. Onslaught roared with frustrated rage as Wayfinder jumped from the dance floor with the sparkling in his arms. Members opened ranks for the dancer and his wailing burden, closing again as he passed.

Tronis struck again, but in the next moment Onslaught threw him off. Immediately engines roared. Two winged forms landed on either side of Onslaught and within seconds he was pinned to the dance floor between Lightspeed and Thundercracker, just before Liquidator arrived with the enforcers. They took over from the Seekers, slapping stasis cuffs on the cursing, screaming mech and dragging him out. When the door closed behind them, the sparkling's wails echoed in the room. Not even the buzzes of excited and frightened voices drown her out.

Then a sense of calm swept the room. In an astrosecond it faded, but Tailspin's cries faded to whimpers and the noise level in the room dropped. Liquidator offered a free drink to everyone present, "In return for being forced to witness such a terrible act," and most of the crowd surged to get one.

Tronis went out with the Enforcers. Liquidator ran out of the club, calling his name. "Thank you," she said, air rushing through her vents as she cooled herself. "You saved the sparkling and Wayfinder. I don't know whether to reward him for catching her or kill him for putting himself in that kind of danger. " Behind them, the enforcers got Onslaught into a net and a helicopter took off with him. They transformed into their alt modes and left, leaving Tronis and Liquidator alone in front of the club.

His vocalizer ran in front of his processor and he blurted out, "Let me have him."

Her vents finally calmed as she considered him. "Look," she said, "If he danced because he had to, if I knew I had to let him go completely, I'd choose you. You made a good offer, I know 'Finder likes you, and you have a good position. You'd take good care of him."

"But?" he asked. For the first time he considered telling her his full name, except that would ruin a lot of careful work.

"I don't include that clause just to protect my business. Since 'Finder's had to work with the five-vorn mess, he's trained good dancers and staff, you've seen them. He loves to dance. And I've found him a master who will let him, one that he likes and who adores him, and that can afford to invest in the business. I even had Sharpster run them through the database, and they make a really good match. "She walked a few steps toward the door. "So if it makes you feel any better, I'm not selling him to the highest bidder. I found him the best match I could. " She went to the door and paused.

"He'll have a sparkling in no time, I'm sure," Tronis said, his spark heavy. "Who is the master, and when will you finalize it?"

"Hover, in a few orns," she said. "I'll renew your membership for a year without charge. "She went into the club. The door closed with a kind of finality.

Inside the club, the two Seekers headed upstairs to the 'quiet' lounge off the balcony. Here, they could order drinks and chat, or go to the balcony to look down on the dance floor.

Lightspeed sent Wayfinder a comm, asking about the sparkling and asking if they could see her. A few moments later, Wayfinder and Hover appeared with the sparkling. "The midwife checked her out before leaving, and said she's fine," Hover told them, still shaken. "I wanted to thank you personally for your assistance."

"Onslaught and his gestalt lived for war," Thundercracker said, "and they were lost without it. I'm glad to see you have more sense. Who raised you? It's obvious they didn't."

"This one's creator?" Lightspeed guessed. "Well, that's a fine strong sparkling," he said, holding out his hands. Without hesitation, Wayfinder placed Tailspin in them. Lightspeed cradled her for a moment. "A heliformer, like you. " He gave the sparkling back to Wayfinder and he withdrew, with Hover following soon after. "Think that one would survive the war?" he asked Thundercracker. It was a favorite game of theirs, speculating who would have survived the war and who wouldn't from the second generation.

"Doubt it," the blue Seeker judged. "Tronis, now, that one would." He laughed. "I asked that slave once if he would. You know what he told me? 'I would have died in the first ten minutes.'"

"That's true of most of the younger generation," Lightspeed agreed, "Especially the slaves. " A server showed up with their favorite drinks, on the house, and said there would be an unscheduled dance tonight. When he left, the seeker went on, "But Wayfinder? He reminds me of the Autobot femmes, and don't forget they took out Shockwave in the end."

Thundercracker grunted. "Did us all a favor when they did," he said, "considering what we found when we cleaned out Darkmount. Which reminds me. You agreed with that recommendation we made, right? I hear it got through and he's looking into it. There's a good chance there was an observer down there. Considering how Wayfinder just saved that sparkling, I think he'll go for it." Just then they saw lights strobe, and strolled to the balcony. Hover and Liquidator appeared on the other side. Then a spotlight hit Wayfinder, and the music started.

The music played at a brisk pace, much like the music for the earlier line dances, but this was no line dance. The dancer slid through his routine without a break, with the light following him, as pleasing to the optic and fun to watch as always. There was nothing overt in the dance, but as he watched, Lightspeed felt his engine rev. He heard Hover say to Liquidator, "How can anyone ask him to give up what he loves so much?" At the end, when the music stopped, the dancer looked up to meet Hover's optics, and smiled. Then the lights strobbed and he was gone.

Collectively, everyone drew in air. Then there was a stampede for the doors. Thundercracker and Lightspeed made for the flyer's exit. Lightspeed found Bluestreak in their berth. Bluestreak, thank Primus, woke to Lightspeed gentle, urgent caresses aroused and cheerfully cooperated. Not until they lay curled together, sated, did Bluestreak ping him with a query. "Wayfinder's latest dance," he murmured, and Bluestreak snickered before he slid back into recharge. Lightspeed lay awake a few moments longer and admired the deft manipulation. What better way to distract from a violent situation than a dance that sent everyone home to their berth, alone if necessary? Add to that a piece of gossip that would override even the dance. What did that look at the end mean? He followed Bluestreak into recharge, resolving to check into his information source later.

The next morning he came out of recharge alone and heard Bluestreak in the kitchen, along with the chattering of his sparkling Blueray. He came in and got his morning energon before he took them to work. At the company, Bluestreak headed for the nursery to drop the sparkling off and Lightspeed strode to his office. Once there, he contacted Windsong. Then he got hold of Thundercracker. "I just talked to Windsong," he said. "We don't have much time."

"Don't worry," Thundercracker told him. "I heard he's already given orders."

"I'll comm you when I get to the lawyer's office," Liquidator told him as they walked from her office to the empty bar. "That'll give you time to get a massage and a polish. Tickler said she'll give you her best." He nodded. "Scared?"

"A bit," he said softly. "I know what's going to happen, but still." He smiled. "I can't help but be a little nervous."

She reached out and stroked his face. "I hate giving you up," she said. "But he can protect you in some ways I can't. I can't give you consort status no matter what I do. Sharpster's right about that. And I keep getting hints that you need that protection." So, she'd been warned, the same way he'd gotten those hints about how his potential was being wasted. "I'll see you when we come back," she said.

As he watched her leave, he wondered at himself. He'd looked closely at Hover from the time he escorted Blades into the office, asking for help. Most mechs at the club didn't like him, but what they saw as a haughty attitude, Wayfinder recognized as an almost paralyzing shyness.

But working with Blades meant he worked with Hover. When Hover asked if he was available, Wayfinder made sure they were alone and mapped out the conditions. He saved the condition about the dancing for last. Hover only nodded, looking thoughtful. The next day he sent in his offer, with every condition Wayfinder outlined met. When he came down with Liquidator, he said, "I want you to dance as long as you want. I'll watch and think about how lucky I am. " Then he turned to Liquidator and said, "But when he wants to stop, he stops."

Wayfinder could not believe his luck. Hover turned out to be everything he ever wanted from a master. Not only was he kind and well-off, but he needed Wayfinder in ways most other masters didn't. He just didn't see the world the way most mechs did, making him socially awkward. Wayfinder wanted to help him. All that, and Wayfinder found him attractive. Not as attractive as Master Tronis, but attractive enough.

He needed to be in someone's berth. The sparkings woke a need in him that wouldn't go away. He knew it came out in his dance. Worse, as he worked more and more with mechs in pain, he found his abilities growing, until he could send out a blast of calm to a roomful of mechs and broadcast his need in his dance. He remembered how the room cleared magically that night. He also knew that Hover went into Liquidator's berth. That didn't bother him at all.

Tapper came in as he mused. "So it's the big day?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I'm going to the dance floor," he said. "Maybe that'll work off some of my first-night jitters." She laughed and waved him on. He put on one of his most challenging numbers and managed to lose himself to the music and the movement. When the song ended, he stayed in pose a moment to judge the dance.

Someone applauded. Startled, Wayfinder turned.

Tapper stood behind the bar, where a mech sat watching. She looked frightened. Wayfinder saw the badge of an enforcer, but it had some kind of special tint. "He has a summons," she said.

"I do," he said, standing and coming toward Wayfinder. Before he got in touching range, Wayfinder backed away.

"My mistress is away, master," he said. "She'll be back in a joor or so, if you care to wait."

He said pleasantly, "This one is specifically for you, to appear before the Lord Protector Megatron."


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own Transformers or I would be rich.

Dance of Sparks Chapter Five

Wayfinder huddled in the corner of the medbay isolation room, with the hood of his traveling cloak over his helm and the rest covering him completely. He wanted to shut out the rest of the world. In an effort to bring his racing systems under control, he drew air in and out of his vents slowly. In the space of a few joors, his future changed from gaining a kind master and staying at the club, to serving a spoiled Decepticon as nothing more than a pretty chassis to breed with.

He never felt so owned.

"The summons states only that I am to take the slave called Wayfinder to Lord Megatron," the enforcer repeated. "The Palace Guard does not question Lord Megatron's orders, and neither should you." He glared down at the employees and suppliers in the bar, but Wayfinder sensed his worry.

Tickler glared back, singularly unimpressed. She and Nebula stood in front of the dancer, while several others stood behind him. "I can read, "Tickler shot back. "First off, a slave can't accept any kind of official data. His master or mistress does. His mistress is gone, like we told you about five times. Now you tell me where on that summons it says he's to go without his owner. His old mistress and new master should be back in a joor or so to take that summons and go with him. "

"Let us give you one of our specials on the house," Nebula offered pleasantly, "and we'll contact her. I'm certain she'll arrive as quickly as she can. "Behind him, Wayfinder heard the other employees agreeing. At the same time, they included him in their coms, and he knew they couldn't get hold of her.

"My orders state I'm to bring him as soon as I deliver the summons," the Palace Guard insisted. He slammed the datapad onto the bar. "All of you here witness I've delivered the summons. " He looked around the two femmes, trying to catch Wayfinder's optic. "You, slave, get over here now."

In a clear voice, with no emotion in it, Wayfinder recited, "Per executive decree," he listed a date, "unless the slave in question is deemed a danger to other Cybertronians, to the slave himself, or is under detention for criminal offenses, the slave is not to be forced to accompany officials unless properly escorted by the master, mistress, or specifically designated proxy, unless the owner gives verbal permission in front of two uninvolved witnesses. Should an official disregard this decree, the state will fine the official for the cost of any damage, up to and including the full cost of the slave. Should the slave be a consort, the damages are doubled."

The recital earned him several astonished stares, not least from the Palace Guard himself. "Do you folks think I'm out to rape the mech?" the Palace Guard said in disbelief. "I'm under orders to bring him in in perfect condition. Now one of you go get his cloak." No one moved. "What is it with all of you?" he shouted.

"We like our jobs. Ain't that many good ones around," Nebula said bluntly. "He's worth more than most of us earn in vorns and worth every credit of it. We let him go without her, we need a better reason than some Palace Guard was in too much of a hurry to wait."

"What about this one?" the Palace Guard snarled, and the whine of a weapon firing up fill the room. Wayfinder's head shot up and he tried to shove between the two femmes.

"He wouldn't dare," Tickler snarled, holding him back.

Then the door to the quiet room opened and Lightspeed strode in. "I've called for a drink three times now," he started, and stopped as everyone started talking at once. "Enough!" he thundered, and quiet descended. Tickler let go of Wayfinder and explained the situation. When the Palace Guard opened his mouth, Thundercracker sent him a look and he shut it. "I see," he said, and held out his hand for the summons. He looked it over. "All right, both of you have valid points, "he conceded. "Have any of you managed to contact Quid?"

"She and Hover headed to her lawyer's," Tickler said, with a significant look. "She was going to contact me when they were headed back, so I have time to get him and massage and polish for his first night. We can't get hold of her or him, though. "

"I know who the lawyer is," the Seeker said. "I'll call him. In the meantime why don't you go ahead and get that massage and polish in, and I'll bring this mech upstairs with me. "He gave his order, recommended that the Palace Guard do the same, and escorted the Palace Guard up. Everyone murmured appreciation and scattered as Lightspeed walked away with the protesting mech.

Wayfinder walked upstairs with Tickler and tried to push away his worry as she worked over him. "There," she said as he stood in front of the double mirrors to examine her work. The others came over to admire her work. "Anyone heard from Quid?"

"That Seeker said for Finder to come and see him as soon as you were finished," one of the others told them. Wayfinder nodded and headed up, trying to hide his worry. He entered the room and saw Thundercracker as well as the enforcer and Lightspeed. Thundercracker looked pleased. Wayfinder stood with his head down and hands behind his back, the picture of a respectful slave.

"I told you they did a good job here," Lightspeed said to the Palace Guard, and stood to walk around him. "Beautiful work. Look up, Finder." The dancer lifted his head, his spark dropping to his pedes as he said the cloak in Lightspeed's servos. "Quid and Hover are summoned as well," the Seeker said, as he draped the cloak. "She got your summons from another guard. Lord Thundercracker will take you, while this guard and I tell the others what's going on." He drew the hood down over Wayfinder's frozen expression.

They reached the Palace in a short time. "We cut it close," Thundercracker muttered as he hustled Wayfinder down corridors. "Though I agree with Lightspeed on the polish, it was worth the wait." They stopped in front of a reception desk. "Lord Thundercracker, with the slave Wayfinder," he said to the mech at the desk.

"Good timing," the mech said, "the last appointment just walked out." The door opened, and Thundercracker put a large servo on Wayfinder's back and urged him through it.

"Thundercracker," came a smooth voice. Wayfinder kept his gaze on the intricately patterned floor. "I see you bring the slave I summoned. I thank you. You may go." The door opened and closed. "Drop the cloak to the floor." Wayfinder obeyed. Heavy footsteps sounded, and a large finger slipped under his chin, lifting his head. Reluctantly, Wayfinder obeyed the implied command, meeting the ruby red optics of the Decepticon leader. For a time, those optics examined him. Released, Wayfinder lowered his gaze to the floor again, and clasped his servos together. "Do you know why you are here?" Lord Megatron asked.

"No, my lord," he managed to say in a low but steady voice. He tried to calm himself by even, deep vents.

The Decepticon leader observed in an amused voice, "You need not fear, youngling. I have Optimus for my consort, and I have no need for anyone else." He paused. "However, one of my offspring needs a consort." He vented and waved for the slave to follow. "Come here, and stay on your feet. The groveling gets old."

Wayfinder approached as Megatron walked to a richly decorated chair on a raised platform. He took in the room as he walked. The purple emblems richly embossed on the walls made the room feel dark despite bright lights. "Is there a service I can provide for your lordship?" he asked cautiously, hoping against hope that Lord Megatron wanted nothing more than his matchmaking skills. Megatron radiated power, and a capacity for violence that frightened Wayfinder to his core.

"You might say that," Megatron said, amused. "You caught the optic of my heir, to the point he made an offer to purchase. I believe he used a different name in an effort to hide the transaction from me. So I had you investigated, thinking he was simply being young and foolish. I intended to confront him with proof of how useless such one would be. Instead I discovered that in addition to a pretty face and chassis, the slave he wants possesses some useful skills and a working processor under his pretty helm- and an intact seal. "He paused, looking at Wayfinder expectantly.

"My lord, I am not worthy," he managed to say. "I am only a dancer, with no high connections, no training in the manners or behavior expected in such exalted circles. Surely there are others more suited." Primus, spare me this, he thought desperately. Absolve me for drawing attention to myself as no slave should. Please. Please. Liquidator and Sharpster needed his skills and he was family, even if only a slave. Hover needed him, both to bring him into a family and to learn to deal with other mechs. To them he had value outside being a chassis to bear sparks. Here he had no family, no skills, nothing to protect him.

"Excellent." Lord Megatron smiled with satisfaction. "No high connections means no unwanted political relatives trying to influence him through his consort." He stood and walked over to Wayfinder. "Think, youngling! Should you please him, and spark within a groon, then you will be the consort of my heir. "

Wayfinder fell to his knees, bowed his head, and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. The lies, the cries of joy, the vows to serve this great leader, the gush of gratitude for this magnificent chance, refused to leave his vocalizer. A servo fell on his shoulder, and with the touch came a rush of information. Lod Megatron wanted his heir to breed. That heir wanted Wayfinder. So he said nothing. As anger built in the large mech before him, Wayfinder started to tremble.

Strangely, his obvious terror calmed the rising violence in Lord Megatron. Defiance the Decepticon leader punished, but fear he understood. "I see that with no political connections comes a lack of ambition," Megatron said in a cold, dry tone. "So. In case you are tempted to disappoint me, let me clarify your position. Should you not please him, or should you not spark within a groon, I will recoup your cost by breeding you to other slaves."

A whimper escaped Wayfinder. "Please," he said, and stopped before he screamed.

Satisfied, the Decepticon nodded. "I see you understand me. Rise. " Wayfinder climbed numbly to his pedes. Megatron walked back to his gilded seat and called for a guard, who prompty appeared and bowed. "Take him to the medbay. Confirm that his valve seal is intact, and hold him there until I call for him. I want him in perfect condition when I present my heir with his sparking day present."

Lord Megatronis, heir to the Lord Megatron, strode through the corridors in his way to the assembly room. His red, blue and grey armor gleamed with rich polish, with jeweled inlays. He walked with the knowledge of his position, tall and strong and proud. He kept an expression mild amusement on his face. Mechs and femmes in the hall stood aside as he passed. "Happy sparking day," they wished him. He returned their smiles and nodded regally.

He hated palace gatherings. "I'm safer in the ruins of Praxus," he muttered to himself, thinking of all the verbal backstabbing and character assassinations that went on during Palace assemblies. Sometimes, if the high grade flowed freely enough, the bash became a brawl, though no weapons meant that the resultant dents and scraps hurt less that the hangovers.

Maybe he would get overcharged tonight. Tonight the slave he wanted would be in someone else's berth. He tried to buy without revealing who he was, and failed. Bitterly he regretted that choice. The hangover might drown the nagging ache in his spark for a time.

His processor elsewhere, he almost ran into the Seeker before he noticed him. "Happy sparking day," Lord Thundercracker said, standing in the center of the hall. He chose a polish with minute sparkles and no other decorations. While the heir stood about the same height and bulk as the Seeker, this particular one happened to be one of the few he could stomach. The blue seeker bragged less and spoke more sense than most of his kind. He moved to the side and fell into step with the heir. "Looking forward to the celebration and Lord Megatron's annual gift?"

With some effort, the younger mech managed not to groan. All his existence, his sire watched over him, ensured his safety, and attempted to give him everything he wanted. Fortunately for his offspring, the demands of his position as the Decepticons leader kept his sire too busy to oversee those matters personally. Unfortunately, he knew nothing of his offspring's tastes. As a result, Megatronis never knew what to expect. Sometimes the gift delighted him, like the inlays he wore today. Sometimes it embarrassed him, like the pass to a discrete house of pleasure. Most of them just sat in his quarters at the Palace unused. "Give me a hint," he asked as they strolled toward the assembly room. "He's managed to keep it from Creator this vorn. "

"Something he wants you to have," Thundercracker said, "but I think you'll be pleased. " They parted, going down different corridors. Megatronis nodded to the guard, who opened the door while wishing him a happy sparking day. For the first time that day, he gave someone a genuine smile.

"Creator," he said, going to Optimus Prime. "It's good to see you. Is Sire here yet?" He sat in a comfortable chair by his creator and examined him. Optimus' armor shone with expensive polish, but he wore no other adornment on his red and blue armor. The Prime needed none. "One day I will understand why, when the rest of us polish, decorate and posture, you can put on a simple polish and outshine us all."

"Flattery will gain you nothing but your sparking day present," Optimus said, regarding his offspring fondly, and pulled a package from subspace. Megatronis opened to find a datapad, filled with music from before the Great War. He gave his sire a puzzled look. "Ping it," his creator sent, and he did. With the ping, a file opened. "How lovely, Creator!" he exclaimed as music filled the room, and a history of pre-war Cybertron scrolled up. A quick glance told him this history was uncensored. He pinged again, and the file disappeared, but the music continued to play. He sent wordless gratitude.

"I found them in the library," Optimus said, "in an old set of files. Do enjoy them." Through the comlink he added, "Red Alert and I tidied away more files in the archive. Let me know if you want them." Megatronis subspaced the gift. Somehow, without access to any credits, his creator managed to provide presents that he cherished more than the expensive ones his sire bestowed. Clearly, so the guards could hear, the Consort added, "I wonder what your sire has planned for you?"

Outside the door they heard the guard's salute and rose. When Megatron entered the room, they started to kneel, but he waved them up. "Happy sparking day!" he said cheerfully, exuding satisfaction. Megatronis responded with enthusiasm, inwardly groaning. "Come," he said to Optimus. A guard leaped to open the door, and the Lord Conqueror swept onto the balcony of the assembly room with his consort, Megatronis behind them. "Let the festivities begin!"

Throughout the next joors, as Decepticons came through the receiving line, Megatronis caught his sire glancing at him. He pretended not to notice as he accepted greetings and laughed at witty quips. Finally released, he led the dancing, managing to lose himself in the music and the movement. For his size, he danced well and he knew it. He wished he danced at his favorite club instead of here. He stuck to the mid-grade mixes. He would need his wits to respond to the gift; his sire believed he chose a perfect one. Several times Megatron hinted that he wished his heir to work directly with him. Thus far, he managed to sidestep. The position he held carried a lot of responsibility, and he knew his performance excelled. He needed to keep his sire pleased to hold the job he preferred.

The dance ended, and the Lord Conqueror stood. "Come, my heir," he said. The guests parted before the heir, wild with curiosity. As he walked, Megatronis looked for a hint of the gift, but he reached the balcony without seeing anything. Then his sire stepped back to reveal a figure completely hidden inside a golden cloak. "Meet your new consort," he said.

Consort? A burst of fury raced through him. So, somehow his sire discovered his offer and refusal. Did he think any compliant chassis would do? Did he expect his heir to tamely accept the Lord Conqueror's choice? He made no effort to hide his expression as he looked down at the slave, completely hidden by the cloak. "I would prefer to choose my own consort, sire," he sent.

"Ah, but this pretty one would prefer not to bear slave sparklings and never see them again," his sire sent back, the smile never leaving his face. "So you might want to look at him first. Yes?"

Megatronis vented hard. He looked down at the slave, and saw the cloak shaking. Giving his sire a furious look, he shoved back the hood, and stared. Fury began disbelief and a growing joy. Black and deep blue-no, it couldn't be. He went to his knees and gently urged up the slave's head. As their optics met, the slave whispered, "Master Tronis?"

"Wayfinder," he breathed. He looked up at his sire, who nodded his approval. Then he shoved the hood back down, picked his new consort up, and shouted, "Thank you, Sire!" before he swept thought the door. Wayfinder clung to him like a lifeline and buried his face in his new master's shoulder.

"It seems he approves my gift," Lord Megatron announced, as the assembled Decepticons laughed and cheered.


End file.
